


Una Luna de Miel en la Mano

by taerin (milksfavourite)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Masturbation, Other, The Razor Crest - Freeform, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksfavourite/pseuds/taerin
Summary: The Mandalorian likes to think of himself as all business, perfunctory, to the point and he usually is all these things. But occasionally even he indulges himself. This is one such occasion.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	Una Luna de Miel en la Mano

**Author's Note:**

> this ain't anything but smut about the Mandalorian and his handalorian. no apologies or regrets will be given.  
> thanks, management.

Despite common belief, Din doesn’t _always_ wear the helmet. In fact, when he is alone on his ship, all bounties frozen in carbonite, he doesn’t wear it, preferring to breathe the filtered air of the Razor Crest unfettered. Other perks of removing his helmet included: being able to shave and wash his face, eating, and hearing his own voice unmodulated (which was quite the novel experience).

Right now that voice filled the air with soft gasps and grunts as Din strokes his cock. Spread out on the pilot’s chair, back to the wormhole of hyperdrive, Din Djarin is jerking off. The soft pants he wears when he’s alone are pushed down to his thighs, which are tense with pleasure as his surprisingly soft hand trails up and down his length. Precum is beading at the swollen head of his dick, only to be swiped away by a thumb and dragged down, soothing the almost ragged friction he’d worked up.

Din is sure he’d look obscene if there was anyone to see him. Chest bare and flushed prettily, dark curls sticking to his neck and face. The thought of being observed makes a moan catch in his throat, and he swallows hard, squeezing his dick to pull back his orgasm. He’s only been at this a few minutes and isn’t quite ready to give it up yet.

Drooling into his palm he smears saliva messily over his dick, rubbing over the head with a single finger. He does have slick onboard but the warm burn of just his hand and some spit scratches an itch deep inside. He spreads his legs to reach a second hand between them, cupping his balls and rolling them heavily in his fingers. The added sensation pulls another moan to deaden against the metal walls of the ship. He fists his dick roughly, wondering idly if the soft embrace of another body would make him come quicker or if he needs the roughness after so long alone.

Din has been with others, despite common belief. The helmet stays on, of course, but there’s nothing stopping him from sinking his cock into a tight hole. He remembers the delicious warmth of the last person he’s fucked, a bartender on some backwater planet. He’d barely been on the planet for a rotation, but the dull ache in his balls hadn’t subsided until he’d spilled himself into the tight insides of the moaning bartender. Free accommodation had been just another perk.

The memory forces him back to the edge, teetering on the delightful knife’s edge of orgasm. Din feels his thighs tense and his throat tightens almost painfully as prickly heat flushes all over him. Tears prick at his eyes and he can resist no longer. Squeezing his eyes closed, Din comes with a feral groan, fucking into the burning friction of his own hand. The wetness of his come barely soothes the exquisite friction as he whimpers through each pulse of it. There’s a ringing in his ears as the pleasure subsides, leaving him weak, damp and draped over his chair.

He milks the last few drops from his cock, shuddering and almost choking with sensitivity. Din whimpers as he wipes his hand mostly clean on his pants before shoving them down the rest of the way. The cottony brain feel of post-orgasm his head and he falls asleep like that in the pilot's chair, pants pooled around his ankles, spent dick laying on his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eset7FbRjec  
> title courtesy of this 80s synthpop bop about cranking the hog.


End file.
